


the boys i mean are not refined

by dramady, edonyx



Category: Adam Lambert - Fandom, American Idol RPF, lambliff
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-04
Updated: 2010-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-09 07:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/edonyx/pseuds/edonyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> ee cummings says what Tommy doesn't know the right words for. <br/><b>Authors' Notes:</b> Three poems are used here: <i>i carry your heart with me</i>, <i>because i love you)last night</i>, and <i>i like my body when it is with your</i>, all by ee cummings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the boys i mean are not refined

Sure, lyrics have always been a big deal to Tommy. He writes poetry of his own, writes music of his own, can play whatever instrument is handed to him. He tweets lyrics when they hit him the right way, but lately, he's been going back to his poetry books, leafing slowly through them, picking the words up less easily than if they'd had music behind them. Tommy does it in private, tucked in his bunk on the bus, and one night, when he knows everyone else is asleep, he carefully copies a poem out in black block letters so his handwriting isn't a sure giveaway.

_i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done  
by only me is your doing,my darling)  
i fear  
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)  
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant  
and whatever a sun will always sing is you_

here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)  
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

He leaves it for Adam to find in the dressing room of their next show, a plain white envelope with the poem tucked inside, and Adam's name printed just as carefully as ee cummings' own words.

~~

Adam keeps the poem in his backpack; the one that gets hauled into every building with him. After some initial curiosity of who might be quoting him what he googles to be ee cummings, he simply figures it was left for him at one venue or another and Lane or someone had grabbed it and tossed it onto the bus. It's a pretty poem, really, and the thought that it's from one of his more _ardent_ fans ... well, it's nicer to think that it's more romantic and less creepy than that.

So when he's getting ready for a show, he has it out on his make up table, glancing at it every now and again.

"What's that?" Tommy asks, bending over to spray his hair, rubbing the back of it so it'll stand up just right. Truth is, he knows exactly what it is; he can see the handwriting that's his own, masked, at the moment he straightens. Should it mean something that Adam's still got it, that he hasn't dismissed it as something fannish or unimportant? _Could_ it mean something? Now that his hair's in place, he grabs a pair of waters, setting one down next to Adam at his makeup table, and glances at the paper again. "Someone's writing you love letters?"

"Shut up. It's a poem." Adam smirks, giving Tommy's hip a slap. "It's really pretty." He glances at Tommy through the mirror, though. "You look feisty tonight. What's up?"

"I've been into the Red Bull. Someone's writing you _poetry_. I saw in some magazine that you're hot and single, did you know that?" Tommy leans over and hawks Adam's black eyeliner, stealing some space in the mirror to darken the rims of his eyes. "Nice to know that they've stopped dwelling on the fact that you kissed your straight bass player on prime time." Fuck, the phonecalls he'd fielded from his parents, from his sister, from _everyone_! And now they're settling into playing with each other onstage.

It makes Tommy wish the AMA kiss _had_ actually been the start of something.

"Oh, they still like to think we're fucking. You know that." Hell, Tommy gets asked about it more often than not. The lack of boundaries is staggering. Leaning forward, Adam smudges his liner under his eyes. "They're not writing it, though. That's ee cummings. They're just copying it. But it is pretty. And romantic, you know? It's nice." Settling back in his seat, he reaches for the hairspray. "Might as well get a little romance, I figure."

"I knew who it was." But Tommy's tone is that half-smiled, half-churlish way that tells that he's covering for himself. A lie to cover a secret. "Everyone wants to fuck you but nobody wants to love you, right?" Even while he changes his clothes, he keeps glancing at Adam's reflection in the mirror, confident and poised and nothing short of gorgeous. But for all even Adam knows, Tommy's straight.

On stage, Tommy sidles up to Adam, puts his head back on his shoulder, smiles into the flashing lights when Adam touches him. It's what they do, and they're good at it; it's expected and it's fanservice and Adam grabs Tommy's hair and yanks, though only Tommy knows how careful Adam is not to hurt.

Between songs, Adam holds the mic as he dabs at his face. "I think we all need romance," he announces, and the crowd cheers. "Tommy knows how." Which means nothing to anyone, but the innuendo is enough to get the fans screaming and Adam smiles as they start into "Broken Open."

For a second, Tommy's _sure_ Adam knows that the poem's from him, but as they move through the song, there's nothing out of the ordinary with Adam's behaviour or body language, and it ends up being fun. He finds himself watching Adam a _lot_, as he sings, as he moves and dances; the way his hands move and the way his hips move are both fluid and insanely sexy, leaving Tommy himself feeling warm and tight, like his blood's too hot and his muscles are too small. Offstage, after a couple of drinks, Tommy's got the balls - and liquid courage - to ask, "What'd you mean, Tommy knows how?"

"'Everyone wants to fuck you but no one wants to love you.'" Swirling his drink, Adam smiles at him, a leg crossed over the other, his head back on the sofa back of the green room. "Who gave me the poem?" Reaching a foot forward, he nudges at Tommy's calf. "Was it you?"

"What poem?" It's the safest, fastest answer that Tommy can come up with, and immediately gets up and turns his back to Adam to pick at the buttons on his shirt. He strips down to his shorts and socks, digging through his bag for a t-shirt and jeans to change into. "Besides, if I was going to write something for you, it'd be like, Metallica lyrics or something. You seen my boots anywhere?"

"In the corner over there." Adam points, even. "Is asking that your way of denying it? Or did you really not write it? Are you ashamed to tell me if you did? Why?" He watches Tommy move, holding his glass on his stomach. "It's a beautiful poem."

"I know nobody ever expects the Spanish Inquisition, but dude, lay off on the questions. I need to go search out some Wild Wings, I'm starving. You want me to ask Lane to order you something?" Tommy slithers into a t-shirt and hops into his jeans, and even for being as skinny as he is, the jeans are skinnier and he has to wiggle a bit to get them to sit right. "Besides, what does it matter who the stupid poem's from, anyway?"

Adam doesn't say a word, though, as he leaves. And Tommy doesn't see the poem again.

But a week later, in Tommy's bag, is this:

_because i love you)last night_

clothed in sealace  
appeared to me  
your mind drifting  
with chuckling rubbish  
of pearl weed coral and stones;

lifted,and(before my  
eyes sinking)inward,fled;softly  
your face smile breasts gargled  
by death:drowned only

again carefully through deepness to rise  
these your wrists  
thighs feet hands

poising  
to again utterly disappear;  
rushing gently swiftly creeping  
through my dreams last  
night,all of your  
body with its spirit floated  
(clothed only in

the tide's acute weaving murmur

Adam has press and interviews and he goes out that night to the hottest gay bar in the city. He doesn't get back to the hotel until late-late, his make up smeared, shirt half-untucked and when he sees Tommy at the hotel bar, he doesn't say anything again, simply heading for the elevator.

Tommy isn't sure whether to be jealous, or angry, or to cut Adam off and _kiss_ him for leaving that poem - it had to be him, right? He'd been the recipient of an ee cummings poem of his own - and instead, stays where he is, the sharply folded corners of the paper digging into his leg by way of his pocket. Once the elevator doors are closed, Tommy pays his tab and catches the next elevator up to their floor, fighting the urge to stop and knock on Adam's door until he's standing right in front of it, fingers curled down, hand raised. _I want to love you._ It's a thought that's as quick and hot as a shot of tequila, and he knocks.

There's a moment of nothing, then the door swings open and Adam stands there, a towel in hand, his face washed clean, his feet bare. He stands back, though, letting Tommy in, before letting the door closed and heading back to the bathroom. "Are you okay?" He asks, the words echoey against the tiles. "Was Monte with you in the bar?"

"Yeah." Tommy kicks his shoes off, looking around Adam's room. It's not much different from his own, even though Adam's the star and Tommy and the rest of the band are just that, the band. It's neat with one unopened bag and another opened in half to get, what Tommy presumes, his toiletry bag and a change of clothes. "At least I disguised my handwriting on that note. Yours was easy to pick out."

There's the sound of running water and something like Adam brushing his teeth. He appears at the doorway again and he is brushing his teeth, eyes clear and blue as he watches Tommy for a minute, maybe two. Then he disappears, spits and shows up again, wiping at his mouth with a towel. "Should I have had Lane write it? Are you the winner because you disguised your writing? I don't understand this game."

"It isn't a game," Tommy comes back. "It's... it's complicated because even though everyone seems to think we're fucking, we're not. They don't think about the way either of us might _feel_, or how _I_ might feel. I didn't want you to think it was me because it's... I don't know." Tommy's feet think for themselves, crossing the hotel room until he's eye to eye with Adam. When he tips his chin up, that is. "Everyone wants to fuck you but no one wants to love you. I figured that maybe someone does. So I copied that poem for you." Tommy's eyes are dark and serious, mouth set into a firm line.

"Are you the someone?" Adam looks back evenly, his eyes warm (and breath minty). "Why should we care how we feel, Tommy? We aren't real to them, not really. Or we're too real, when really, we're something in between. ... are you the someone?" he asks again, quiet as a whisper.

"Yeah, maybe." Tommy gets up on his toes to push a clumsy kiss against Adam's mouth, the first one in as many months since the AMA's, the tequila on his breath sour and hot compared to the mint of Adam's own. "What'd you do tonight? Did... did you find someone who wanted to fuck you?" For Adam, that wouldn't be any trouble. Tommy kisses him again. "I fell for you pretty fucking hard, didn't I."

"Easy." Adam holds tight onto Tommy's shoulders and he guides him to sit on the sofa and he sits too. "I made out with someone, okay? Do you mean it? That you fell for me?" There's a tentativeness to his expression that shows he doesn't quite know what to do with what Tommy just told him. "What does that mean?"

"The first time you went out and came back looking like that," Tommy starts, brows furrowed together like he's in deep thought about the gravity of his words, "I was jealous. Like, stupid, temper-tantrum fucking jealous. That's when I started to realize that... I don't know. That I'd kissed you back on TV for a reason. I didn't know you were gonna do it, you just did it, and..." He shrugs, one side of his mouth quirking upward. "And every time after, I just told myself I was being stupid." He looks up at Adam, brows still drawn together. "When you went to Europe without me, me and Mia talked about a lot of stuff. She beat me with the clue bat-" The bat had been more like a number of bottles of wine, but the principle remains the same, "-and I've been trying to figure out a way to tell you without it getting all weird."

"So you hid your handwriting and didn't admit to writing it. That wasn't weird?" But Adam asks it quietly. "Because it was." But after that, he has to smile, just a little. "You were jealous? The boy there was cute, but ... " He waggles his hand. "A little vacant." But at least he didn't have a cell phone. That was what mattered these days.

"I wanted you to know that someone loved you and gave a shit about who you are instead of what you look like or how many notes you can hit. I admire the _shit_ out of you." Tommy's long fingers touch Adam's hair briefly, fingertips skimming against short, sharply cut ends. Adam's had his hands in Tommy's hair any number of times for performances, but Tommy's wondering now how it'd feel for Adam to pull his hair for other, less innocent reasons. "It's stupid to get jealous, isn't it."

Adam shrugs; it's not like he's never gotten jealous. "Why didn't you sign it right away? Why did you give me such shit when I asked about it?" He doesn't move, letting Tommy touch him as he wants and Tommy can feel the goosebumps on Adam's arms. "What do you want to happen?"

"I just wanted you to know. That's all. And after all the bullshit with the AMA's and the ustream chats, I thought that you might think... Well, fuck. I don't know what I thought you might think." Tommy laughs, and it's genuine and quick, his palm running the length of Adam's arm from elbow to wrist. "Maybe I was afraid that you weren't interested or something. Because you're like, this awesome person and this awesome friend and I didn't want to fuck any of that up." He chews on his lower lip, eyes trained on the soft line of Adam's mouth. "I like my body when it's next to your body, it's quite a new thing..." It's not quite the right words, but they're close enough; Tommy doesn't have anything to copy them from. "I kinda want to be with you," he decides, his voice quiet and low, and he lifts his chin so he can kiss Adam again.

It's a soft kiss, exploratory, Adam opening for Tommy, then licking against his tongue, his fingers coming up to frame Tommy's face. "Are you sure?" He asks, lip to lip. "I don't want to fuck it up, either." Because somehow, quickly, Tommy has become a _friend_, and a good one. Sincere and loyal. A good friend who has an amazing mouth. One that Adam kisses with increasing intensity.

Tommy finds himself nodding, and then makes a shakily laughed admission. "If I'm not, that means I've been practicing for nothing." It's easy to do with both hands in the middle of the night, when everyone else is asleep and Tommy was wide awake with nothing but his iPod to entertain him. Well, that, and some lube he'd picked up in a Walgreens when grabbing hair spray. He tilts his head so their mouths can fit together, kissing Adam in soft bites of lip, and pulls back to tug his lower lip.

"I don't even know if I want to know what you've been practicing." But Adam says it, laughing softly. "You're sexy," he admits. "There was a boy at the bar who looked like you. I kissed him." He's reaching for the hem of Tommy's t-shirt, slipping his hands under, glancing along Tommy's stomach, the warm skin there.

"I'm not drunk," Tommy promises for no good reason. Yes, he'd had a shot or two at the hotel bar, but that was it, and maybe he wants Adam to know that he's not making these decisions, taking these steps because he's shitcanned. "You're sexy on top of everything else," he smiles, ducking his head to kiss the side of Adam's throat. "You're like... all that and a Big Mac. Minus the dressing." Letting Adam touch him makes Tommy feel hot and cold all at once, nervously turned on to balance the relief that comes with finally being honest with Adam.

Tommy's hard against the seam of his jeans, without Adam even touching him more than he is right now, and kissing him, and he shifts on the couch, one hip to the other. Then he tells Adam exactly what he's been practicing, in low, breathy detail. How he'd stretch himself in his bunk, knowing Adam was right below him; how he's managed to get himself off harder than he ever has in his stupid life while using both hands and wishing they were Adam's.

"Fuck." Adam hisses through clenched teeth. His hands span Tommy's waist now and it's easy. He can feel the flush of arousal up his back and between his legs as he leans forward, pushing Tommy back onto the sofa and he lies over him. "Do you want me to fuck you, baby?"

"Holy shit," Tommy laughs against Adam's lips. "I think that'd be fucking great." There's a deep, pounding relief now that Adam knows it was Tommy all along, except maybe the deep pounding sensation is all the blood in his body pooling between his hips, and he gasps when he lifts them up against Adam's. "Bet it's different than a couple of fingers though, huh?" His teeth scrape against the line of Adam's jaw, followed by soft, hot kisses that end with him tugging on the ring dangling through Adam's left spacer.

Laughing out a breathy yes, Adam reaches around Tommy's leg, even through his jeans, and squeezes his ass, turning his head just a little bit to suck a mark into Tommy's neck. "Just a little. But it's so _good_. I promise you." That all means, of course, getting up. But not _just_ yet. More kissing first; Adam pushes his tongue into Tommy's mouth; it's way better, he feels, than making out with the random Tommy-lookalike.

All of Tommy's practice amounts to fuck-all when Adam kisses him like that, like he knows exactly what he's doing and knows exactly what he wants from Tommy. So he kisses Adam back, feeling the sting of the mark that's been left on his skin. There's the itch to take his clothes off; he feels too warm, and the way their bodies fit together, it'd be so much _easier_ if they were just naked. On another level, Tommy knows he should be nervous about what they're going to do, but he's not. He lifts his hips again and breathes a hot sound into Adam's incredible mouth.

"So pretty," Adam whispers. When he leans back, Tommy can see that his cheeks are flushed. "Do you ... are we together-together?" What does that mean? How does that ... Best to get that settled, though, before clothes come off. Complications aren't in the tour schedule.

"Yeah," Tommy answers, and cracks a little smile. "If you want to be, yeah. I mean... I didn't copy out someone else's poetry for nothing, right?" He hopes he didn't, anyway. "I mean, it sounds really stupid, you know? That I figured out how I felt without any of _this_ to, I don't know, weird things up." He puts a hand on Adam's shoulder, holding him back far enough that Tommy can look at him. "I mean, not that it's going to be weird now? Just... I fell for who you are."

Adam blinks slowly and looks back at Tommy. "That ... is totally the nicest thing you could ever say to me." He leans down again, but this time, slower, and when he touches his mouth to Tommy's, it's gentle, urging Tommy to open, to taste, to take what Adam is giving him in return for what Tommy gave him.

Tommy's hands find their way into Adam's hair, heavy and black and still stiff with product, and he curls a leg against Adam's hip. "I love you," he finally says, with the taste of Adam's mouth on his tongue. "I hope that's okay." Then one hand drops from Adam's hair to smooth up under his shirt instead, finally touching all of that freckled skin he's admired in secret. The anxiety of being hard because of Adam is forgotten; all Tommy feels is what his body's processing: warm weight, soft mouth, and when he moves just right, sparklers of desire fizzing up his spine.

"I think that's okay, yeah," Adam tells him, smiling into the kiss. It goes on for a long time, that kiss, and when he finally pulls back, it's to stand and offer Tommy a hand up. There's a bed, a big one, waiting for them just a few feet away.

Their fingers twine together and he leads the way, then tugs so that Tommy sits first. That way, Adam can bend down and start to pull his creepers off. He has to laugh. The damned things are four inches tall! They clunk on the thick carpet.

"Shut up, I'm short." Tommy's own laugh joins with Adam's, and he uses his toes to pick his socks off, too. Socks and sex? Weird. He tugs at the front of Adam's shirt, wanting to lift it up, but instead distracts himself and makes the whole undressing process slower by kissing Adam, pulling him close so he's got one leg over Adam's and the other around his hip again, holding them snug and close. "I want to touch you," Tommy breathes. "I've been dying to know what it's like."

"You can touch me all you want." Adam climbs onto the bed now, pushing Tommy back to his back. When he's got both legs on the bed, he kneels, straddling Tommy's hip and he pulls his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. Grasping Tommy's wrists, he guides them to his chest.

After dampening his lips, Tommy's face is the picture of concentration, watching where his fingers move on Adam's skin. He flashes a grin at Adam when he tweaks one of his nipples, tugging it between his thumb and index finger, then lets his touch graze downward, over where Adam's body had once been soft and is lean now, sleek, and Tommy rubs his thumb up and down the fine line of fair hair that goes from Adam's navel into his pants.

It makes Adam shiver, honestly. His nipples get hard, goosebumps cascade down his arms, but he stays there, ass on Tommy's thighs. Tommy can see the bulge in his jeans, but Adam doesn't move to do anything about it. As Tommy wants, so shall he have. The look on his face is priceless: tentative, a little excited, a little flushed. Gorgeous.

Finally, Tommy's fingers end up on Adam's fly, flicking the button on them and tugging the zipper down. He know's what's behind it, can feel it with his knuckles, and his gaze flicks up to Adam's face to gauge the weather there, and turns his hand so it's his palm that's pressed to Adam's cock, rather than his knuckles. "Wow," Tommy breathes, as if all the air's been knocked out of him. "Holy shit, Adam."

It makes Adam laugh - His cock, Tommy's response to it. "It won't hurt you, I promise," he says quietly, rocking his hips forward to feel more of Tommy's hand, the heat of it. "We'll take our time and it'll be _good_." Holding Tommy's hand in place, he leans forward again, to lick and suck on his lower lip.

"Pants off," Tommy answers, when he finally has to take a breath. They've seen each other naked, or close enough to naked that it doesn't matter, but this is different. They're naked _with_ each other, with intent: they're going to sleep together, and _be_ together, and it's scary and heady and kind of amazing all at once. "I'm... I know it'll be good. 'cause it's you." It sounds sappy and romantic, but after sharing poetry back and forth and professing his _love_ for Adam, Tommy figures he's allowed to be a little bit mushy.

It's a sure-fire way to Adam's heart, anyway. Or in his pants for that matter. He lifts a leg at a time to wriggle out of them and the boxers all at once, pointing out. "You're still fully dressed." He kneels off to the side. "I think you should fix that."

"Hang on, just a sec. You were _on_ me, remember?" Tommy flashes Adam a grin and strips his shirt off, winging it off the side of the bed, then balancing his weight on the backs of his shoulders and his heels to push his pants down his hips and his legs. "Wow. That totally wasn't a big deal at all, was it." Adam's got a _gorgeous_ body, Tommy realizes once again. He thinks it every time he sees Adam getting changed: long legs and broad shoulders, the lines of his muscles straight and narrow. He feels silly and skinny next to Adam, but Tommy is what he is, and he pulls Adam close to kiss down the column of his neck. "Better?"

"Lots better, yeah." Adam can stretch out then, hooking a leg over one of Tommy's. His erection is pressed against Tommy's hip, but that's all he does with that for the moment. He returns Tommy's favor, kissing along that neck and he runs the flat of his hand down Tommy's chest, over the follow of his stomach, the pan of his hips. His pinkie finger brushes along the column of Tommy's cock first, hot, he thinks, to the touch. Then he palms over it.

It makes Tommy's breath hitch in his chest, as if he's getting ready to sneeze or cough, but instead, it's held until his lungs begin to burn, and it escapes in a low sound that's part sigh and all pleasure. It's not even the sort of pleasure that would get Tommy off: it's the kind that comes from having Adam do this with him, and he fits his thigh up against the jut of Adam's cock, wanting to share the touch. Then his nerves catch up to him and he wraps his arms around Adam's ribs in a hug, hiding his face in Adam's neck.

"Shh, baby," Adam croons, nuzzling his cheek to Tommy's, hand sliding around his ribs, urging him closer to a full-body hug. "You're so sweet and good." Kisses are planted all along Tommy's jaw, his cheek and ear. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for." There is, after all, a _lot_ to do that doesn't involve intercourse.

Tommy's answer is little more than a vague, shaky laugh. "I don't know if I'm scared 'cause we're doing this, or relieved because you know, or, like, both. I don't know what I'm ready for... I want to do it _all_, but... I mean. I-" He turns his head abruptly to catch Adam's mouth with his, silencing himself with kisses that express Tommy's want more than words could. ee cummings would know what to say, Tommy thinks, and smiles. "I want to, okay?"

"Okay." Rolling onto his back in a break from the kisses, Adam pulls Tommy with him, a hand carding his hair back from his face, another in the small of Tommy's back, taking in Tommy's face, the flushed cheeks, the upturned nose, that cute mouth. "You can fuck me if you want, baby. Or I can blow you, or whatever you want."

Fuck _Adam?_ Wow. That's all Tommy can think, over and over. Wow. But he nods before he can really think about it, and rests his weight on his elbows over Adam. "Is it okay that I do it? I really- Wow. I really want to." More than he'd thought he would, anyway, and his hips press up against Adam's thigh, rutting slow and teasing. "You've got lube somewhere, right?"

"In my bag in the bathroom, yeah," Adam whispers, smile-smirking at Tommy's response. He slides his hand down Tommy's back to cup his ass. "Want to get it? That way I can watch you walk." And he smiles wider, giving that teeny ass a squeeze. "Mrow."

"Hate to see me go, love to watch me leave? That's classy, Glambert." Tommy pinches one of Adam's nipples, glad for the sudden levity, and climbs off the bed. "If you start singing Fever, I am _not_ coming back." When he stands, his cock feels heavy, and he looks down at it like it's about to apologize to him, or something. But he knows what he has to grab, even though it feels strange to go through Adam's bag. He comes back and stretches out, setting the vial and a condom on the bedspread next to Adam's hip. "Were you expecting to get laid?"

"Expecting to?" Adam shakes his head. "Hoping to? Absolutely." Turning, he presses against Tommy's body, chest to knee. "It's why I went out last night. Who knew I just needed to stay in." He's still smiling when he kisses Tommy's mouth again. "Were you?"

Tommy snorts. "No. Groupies don't... just, no. That's wrong and weird and... _wow._ This stuff is _slippery._" He spreads the lube on his fingers, enthralled for a moment with the texture of it, and then slides his hand up between Adam's thighs. "I kept thinking about what it'd be like with you, you know? And you'd be right below me, and I'd do _this._" He rubs slick fingers against the tight rim of muscle before twisting a finger in, slowly.

His head falling back, Adam gasps, eyes slipping shut. "You imagined fucking me? Not me fucking you?" He aks, voice breathy. He braces his heels on the bed, letting his knees fall open, rubbing idly at his cock. "Definitely say no to the groupies, baby. Especially since you're mine now. No groupies."

"Did I mention I'm mahogamous?" Tommy's own voice is low and husky, and he watches Adam's face with dark, heavy eyes, and rocks his finger back and forth until his knuckles are pressed up to Adam's body. It's kind of like doing it to himself, but there's more control, more deliberation. "Mmm," he thinks, kissing the corner of Adam's mouth. "Both. It'd go back and forth, 'cause the feeling would go back and forth, you know? From here," he curls his finger inside Adam, having explored himself enough to know where to touch, "to here." Where he puts his other hand over Adam's to squeeze his cock, right around the head. It has nearly the same effect as doing it to himself, and his hips twitch, knowing where they want to be.

"Fuck." Adam bucks, back arching off the bed. He slides his hand out the way too, to let Tommy do as he pleases, his own arms going up over his head; that way he can press his face to the crook of his arm and breathe, and _feel_. "We'll take turns, then." He's all for that. Tommy hits just the right spot and Adam arches again, his cock twitching in Tommy's hand.

"Oh yeah," Tommy whispers, his body echoing the throb of Adam's cock. It's like a spike driven between his hips, shooting up his spine and back down like lightning. "Oh my god, you feel... you're tight and you're _hot_, and-" He rubs at Adam's skin with a second finger before pushing that in, too, and now the stretch is more noticeable, the cling of Adam's body both soft and hot around Tommy's long fingers. He leans down and tugs one of Adam's nipples with his teeth, finding a rhythm between both of his hands, one outside of Adam, the other inside.

Hands fisting in the covers, Adam rocks his hips, clenching and unclenching around Tommy's fingers and what he's doing. "It's been a while since I've done this this way," he warns with the slightest of smirks. "Be gentle with me?" Which, just saying the words, makes him laugh. "I'm a delicate flower." Again, funny. But damn, if the laughing didn't make him tingle all over.

It makes Tommy laugh too, rough and almost startled by the sound itself, and he scissors his fingers a little. He's being gentle, right? What Adam wants. Not like Tommy could even bring himself to be rough with something like this when it's as new as it gets. "Don't worry," he says, smiling just a little. "I've got my fingers in your ass. I don't really expect it to be, like, normal. Especially when you said you top." But he holds his fingers tight together, curl-rub-pressing them, his thumb firm against the cord behind Adam's balls. "It's gonna feel really good, isn't it."

Adam kind of gurgles out a response at first, eyes crossing, toes flexing and curling. "Yeah. It is." Finally letting go over his head, he reaches up to wrap a hand around the back of Tommy's head, pulling him down for a kiss that's hot and wet and dirty. And _good_. His leg curls around Tommy's hip, too, heel digging in there. "Yeah."

Oh fuck, it reminds Tommy sharply of the AMA kiss, how Adam had just _taken_ what he wanted, and how Tommy had reciprocated without thinking. He curls his fingers together to press three, deep, beckoning to Adam inside his own body. "Holy fuck," he breathes, words blurred by Adam's mouth. "Where's the fuckin' condom?" He pulls one more dragging stroke up and down Adam's cock and then his hands leave Adam's body entirely so he can fumble out the little circle of latex to roll down on himself. "Are you ready? Do you need more?"

"We'll find out." Adam smirks again, but then shakes his head. "I'm good." He circles Tommy's hips with his hands to urge him into place. "You're gonna feel so good in me, baby," he whispers, looking down between their bodies. "Gonna make me come with your cock in me, aren't you? Fuck." Just in saying it, his cock jerks against his belly, leaving a string of precome between it and his skin.

Adam's words make Tommy close his eyes and take a pair of calming breaths before he can grasp the base of his cock and ease his hips forward into the _tight_ grab of Adam's body. It makes him shiver out a helpless, embarrassing noise as he fights with himself to take it _slow._ But when he's far enough that he can free both his hands, one braces his weight above Adam and the other returns to stroking his cock, catching the slick at the head with one pump, then another, and then Tommy brings his hand up to his mouth to lick the taste from his skin, salty and _sexual._ "Oh... oh fuck."

"Jesus, you're dirty." And that's a huge compliment. He lets his head fall back, then, again, concentrating on the fullness and the different pleasure points it hit. It had been a while and he forgot between. "Yeah," he breathes out a second later. "Yeah. That's good. That's right." Digging his fingers into Tommy's ass, he rocks his hips. "Fuck."

Tommy licks his hand again, so when he reaches down to stroke Adam's cock, it's slick with spit, letting skin glide against skin, and he leans down to kiss at Adam's mouth in uneven passes of lip against lip that match the ragged pace of his hips. A shudder back and a press forward, and it hits him, the realization: oh god, oh fuck, he's _inside_ Adam. He and Adam are _fucking._ Except it's nothing at all like how Tommy would classify 'fucking'... it's slower, hotter, focused more in kisses and the sheer knowledge of what they're doing. "I love you," he mouths, with barely a breath to give it sound.

"Mmm, love you, too. God." Adam's all but writhing under what Tommy's doing, at the pleasure that almost seems _forced_ on him. "Oh, god, fuck me _harder_." He digs his heels into Tommy's thighs. "Do it."

There's no way Adam just said that. There's no way he feels the same way about Tommy that Tommy feels about him, and they've just not _known_ about it. But that's for later as Tommy digs his toes into the bed and finds a sharply smacked rhythm that makes him grit his teeth. Every time their bodies come together is a shock to Tommy's system; it isn't as if he's never had sex before, obviously, but this is _different_ and on a level far beyond any of Tommy's experiences. He squeezes up and down Adam's cock, building the tension in gasps and groans, kisses and sucked-up marks, marring the freckles on Adam's shoulder.

"Oh, fuck," Adam hisses, head back, fingers digging into the blades of Tommy's shoulders. It might almost look like he's in pain, but the sounds he's making are not at all like that; high breathy sounds, his hair like ink against the white pillow. The muscles of his body are tightening in increments. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come."

"Mmh," Tommy answers, tight and helpless, and he has the urge to slow down, to draw it out until they're both shaking with the _need_ to come. It's a nice thought, but a brief one, and he gives Adam an unsteady nod, not as permission but simply as acknowledgement. He tries to focus his stroke to the three or so sensitive inches below the head of Adam's cock, whispering against that ink-black hair how _good_ Adam feels, how tight he is, how hot. How incredibly, insanely hot.

Panting out one breath, then another, Adam ends in a groan, hips jerking when he comes, slicking over Tommy's hand and his own stomach. "Oh, shit," he exhales, eyes still shut tight as he just _feels_ it. "Oh ... _shit_." Yes. He feels like he's turned inside out, insides tugged and hot. "Oh, fuck. _Tommy_." His hands slide down, cupping Tommy's ass, urging him in as deep as he can get.

"Fuck!" Tommy cries out, hiding his face against Adam's neck, stretched out so that his calves cramp and the arches of his feet ache, and then it hits him like a million different similies - like lightning, like a truck, like a baseball bat to the back of his head - and Adam can feel Tommy's back arch and his breath burst out. His cock jerks inside Adam (there's that thought again: _inside_, and it stuns Tommy, still), and his muscles twitch as if his brain isn't sending quite the right signals to his body. It doesn't matter, he can't feel it. All he feels is Adam, the slick of come between them, and the rolling thunder of his own orgasm.

There's a moment that's only punctuated by their breathing and the sound of Adam's hand petting Tommy's back, a barely-there brush. Then Adam chuckles softly, "I need you to move, baby," he whispers, hands now on Tommy's hips, urging him _back_. "Okay? Delicate flower." Which is still funny; he still laughs, but yeah, Tommy needs to _move_.

"Huh." It's meant to be an acknowledgement, but just like with his muscles, his brain can't send the proper message to speak properly. Tommy does pull his hips back until they're separate, then stays leaned over Adam for another moment or two before falling to his side so he can pick the condom off and knot it. "You're about as delicate as a cactus. Don't give me that shit." There's a low, breathy laugh, and Tommy leans in to kiss the coloured mark on Adam's shoulder.

"A cactus? Please don't tell me this is your sweet-talk or I'll be so _sad_." His legs falling flat to the bed, Adam wriggles as shoots of aftershocks still rifle through him. "Shit. I - Yeah." For the moment, he's entirely content to lie there letting his muscles settle, finding Tommy's hand to squeeze it. "Mmm. My turn next time."

"Deal," Tommy answers, lacing his fingers together with Adam's. "Don't be sad, I promise you're not as prickly as a cactus. Just tough." After a long moment of just enjoying sharing space with Adam, Tommy rolls off the side of the bed to make his unsteady way into the bathroom and back with a cloth. Sex with Adam has left Tommy feeling all spaghetti-legged and jello-brained, and after giving Adam a wipe, Tommy tosses the washcloth on the floor with the rest of their stuff. "Under the blankets. I'm staying here tonight. You don't get a vote."

"Oh my God, you're bossy too. I'm so screwed." Chortling out a laugh, Adam wriggles til he's under the covers and collapses again. "You used to be so sweet and docile and foul-mouthed. Now you're bossy and foul-mouthed. When did this happen?" Turning onto his side, he finally opens his eyes, arching a brow at his new lover.

"When I decided that sleeping with you is too good to pass up." Tommy wraps hims arm around Adam's waist and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Promise I'm not bossy all the time. Kiss me?" As a question, because Tommy's _not_ bossy! Just sort of sleepy in that post-sexual comfort, added to by Adam's own warmth and the laughing tone of his voice. "I thought I was the one that was going to get screwed, anyway."

"You will. Later." Seeing as it's nearly three AM now. Rolling to his stomach, Adam throws an arm over Tommy's belly, nose to his neck. "I can't believe we're hooked up. I didn't expect that. Do I say that now? Do we tell Monte? Lane? Tell me, oh, bossy one."

"Monte, definitely. And Cam and LP. Maybe Lane, if she asks." Tommy's words are fuzzy and soft, his eyes closed, and it's easy to turn his head to kiss Adam's hair. "_You_ can't believe we hooked up? Man, me either. I'm just... I'm glad, okay? And I'm not bossy." Adam's shoulder gets a pinch. "Just tired. Relieved. And really fuckin' glad." What Adam had done earlier in the night is completely forgotten: that he'd gone out to a club and made out with someone who _looks_ like Tommy, when all he could have done was say the word, and Tommy would have been his. No matter now, because they're where they should be.

In the morning, though, Adam wakes up by himself. Tommy's clothes are gone from the floor, well, except for his socks and his shorts, which means he didn't abandon Adam entirely. But on the pillow next to Adam's head is a piece of hotel stationary, folded in half. Written inside:

_i like my body when it is with your  
body. It is so quite a new thing.  
Muscles better and nerves more.  
i like your body. i like what it does,  
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine  
of your body and its bones, and the trembling  
-firm-smooth ness and which i will  
again and again and again  
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,  
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz  
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes  
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,_

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new

Under that is Tommy's name, and a little happy face. Adam lies in bed for a long few minutes reading it over and over, smiling, too.


End file.
